Suddenly
by NanahBelle
Summary: Based on Laura Main's song, Suddenly. Sweet, fluffy, romantic, and angsty Turnadette!


**A/N: I need to apologize for writing this when I know I need to be continuing my two ongoing stories. This is one of three chapters. I got the idea from a song Laura Main sings called Suddenly. If you have not heard it please look it up as soon as possible. Our dear Laura has a beautiful voice! Any how after listening to it for the umpteenth time it hit me that I could write a Turnadette story based around them and their different fluffy, angsty, sweet scenes.**

 _ **I still remember when I looked at your face.**_

 _ **Such innocence and beauty.**_

 _ **Your eyes met mine, I felt out of place.**_

 _ **I knew right then you saw me.**_

 _ **And as the days, they flew by,**_

 _ **You were the one by my side.**_

Patrick's POV:

"I think it's a dreadful to waste your time like this." Sister Bernadette and Dr. Turner were in the Parish Hall kitchen discussing what the Clinic was in need of.

"Just tell me what you want, Sister." His own wants were confused at the moment. He had feelings he had not had in awhile. Feelings he hadn't had since Marie.

"We manage perfectly well, in spite of the clinic's limitations. We take pride in it!" He loved that about her, he didn't know why, but he did. He was becoming more enamored with her as time went on. It unnerved him of course, she was a Nun!

"If you can't tell me what you want, then tell me what you need."

"Very well," Sister Bernadette finally answered, "There are several screens in need of repair. And there's never enough hot water."

"Isn't there?" She looked at him almost sheepishly.

"We have to boil the kettle for you to wash your hands. So a water heater would be nice, above the sink." she looked down at the lamps she was cleaning delicately and returning to their resting place until next Clinic. "And we struggle with these spirit lamps. They're So old fashioned and so fragile."

"They must break so easy." She looked at him. Really looked him. Her beautiful eyes, he felt as though they could see inside his soul. 'Can you see that you are on my heart and my mind?'

"Yes," He thought maybe she had read his mind before she continued. "and the wicks get damp, and they won't burn."

He wouldn't look away, didn't think he could. She was so close to him and she looked so lovely in the hazy light filtering through the kitchen window. Just a little closer…..

"Dad!"

OOOOO

He had been thinking of her. He knew he shouldn't. But Patrick was not the kind of man to lose interest so quickly. 'But she's a nun!' He let out a frustrate groan and rested his head in his hands. He had been trying to get her off his mind since he saw her last. How could she look so beautiful in a habit surrounded by outdated medical equipment in a rundown parish hall kitchen? 'NO!' he scolded himself again and opened an unfinished case file, trying to distract himself.

Meg and Mave Carter - Twins

Patrick closed the file with a sigh. He would get nothing done, everything was a reminder of her. That was the day she had amazed him. She had stood up for him and put herself in harm's way and continued to work, bringing a breathless child to life. He really was in awe of her…..

"We're like an officer and a sergeant the morning after the Somme. And that's not to say I see myself as the officer." Patrick most certainly did not. In all of his years working with Sister Bernadette never had he been more proud of her. He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. 'Can I be proud of her? What reason have I to be proud of her?' he questioned himself inwardly while taking a drag from his cigarette. "I feel as though I should offer you one." he blew out the smoke.

"Just a puff."

He was stunned for a moment. "Of this?" he held it up and she reached for it.

"Quickly. Just a wee one."

Her hand brushed lightly against his as they traded off the cigarette. Warmth spread over his hand and he had to rein the emotions overcoming him as he watch her delicate fingers place it to her lips. In the back of his mind he briefly thought of what her lips felt like, were they as soft as they looked, were they warm, what did they taste like. 'No.' he schooled himself. Instead he watched in wonder and amusement as she took a puff.

"Ooh," she breathed out and he could see that she relished it. "what are these?"

"Henleys." was all he could manage.

She sighed contentedly, a soft smile gracing her face. "Henleys. I loved Henleys. They were the kind my father used to smoke." He noticed her relax some at the thought of her father. "I used to sneak one out of his desk sometimes when I was about 14." He could not help but grin at that, trying to imagine her when she was younger. He couldn't really, as he had no idea what she really looked like underneath that wimple. Though the habit should have, it did not stop his thoughts from going to her always, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate.

With another small puff and "Thank you," she passed him back the cigarette.

He carefully took it from her, hoping his hand did not act of its own will. "You've earned it." She looked at him for a moment before sheepishly ducking her head. He hoped he had not scared or embarrassed her.

Patrick watched as she walked to her bike and retrieved it while he took another drag of the cigarette, remembering how her lips had just touched it. As she made her way down the busy street he closed his eyes and sighed. 'How can she make me feel this way?'

….. What was he going to do with himself?

 _ **You're here and suddenly,**_

 _ **I need to breathe you in to me.**_

 _ **You've caught my heart unexpectedly,**_

 _ **I look at you and I'm falling,**_

 _ **Suddenly.**_

Sister Bernadette's POV:

"Come on, Sister, come on! Come on, Timothy! Come on, Sister!" She could hear a voice cheering for them. It carried over the raucous of the crowd. Or maybe it didn't. Maybe she was just attuned to it.

In her distraction, Sister Bernadette along with dearest Timothy fell over the finish line. "We won!" She was nearly as excited as the young lad and even more so surprised. And then he was there.

"Timothy, you can't go anywhere. Now hold still!" it seemed Timothy had forgotten he was tied to her still. She slipped the simple tether free and watched him run off in excitement. But where were her glasses?

Sister Bernadette looked to Dr. Turner who had them in hand. Her heart skipped at the smile on his face. She took them gratefully. "Thank you, Doctor." She said, smiling as she stood up, albeit somewhat off balanced. She noticed his hands looked almost ready to catch her as he righted himself as well.

"You've hurt your hand." he gestured to her left one. Indeed she had. A small scrape on the heel of her palm.

She looked at her hand a moment. "Oh! Well, I'm sure there's no need to amputate. If you'll excuse me." a nervous fluttering started up in her belly at the concern on his face. 'Why does he have to look at me so!'

Sister Bernadette went straight inside to the parish hall kitchen. She stood at the sink rinsing her small wound, her mind on the Doctor, like it was most days recently, and their previous meeting in this exact spot. She was so focused on her thoughts and the mild sting from rinsing the scrape that she did not realize he had walked in.

"Would you like me to have a look at that?" she was jolted slightly. 'He's not a mind reader, he can't know you were thinking of him.'

The concern on his face was endearing and she considered her hand for a moment. The wound was minimal, no real damage done. Her logical, nurse side told her it only needed a little antiseptic, some light bandaging at most. Her curious side, the part of her that wanted to explore the budding feelings inside, screamed yes! "Yes." She did her best to keep her feelings from her face.

Dr. Turner came toward her slowly, almost tentatively. He gently took her hand in his left while the right softly touched around the wound.

Her heart was racing, her breathing shallow. She worried he could hear the changes, feel her pulse accelerate beneath his fingers. 'Oh, his fingers. His hands!' they were far better than she had imagined, so soft yet so sure. 'One does need such hands to deliver babies.' she reminded herself, anything to distract herself from the feelings bubbling inside her.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, his eyes closing. Her breath hitched and she pulled away, turning from him when all she wanted was to do was… what did she want to do? She did not know but this was not it.

"I'm sorry." She almost broke at the pain and sorrow in his voice. "That was unforgivable."

"Who is it who decides what is forgivable and unforgivable?" her voice almost gave out and she could feel tears pricking behind her eyes.

"I think you know that better than I do." Oh yes. She did.

She wanted to go to him but knew she could not. She turned her face slightly to him, hoping he could see the sincerity of her words without having to look at him for fear she would crumble. "At this moment, I only know that I am not turning my back on you because of you. I am doing it because of Him." She needed him to know that. She did not dare look at him for fear she would not be able to control herself any longer.

"And if I didn't accept that, I wouldn't deserve to live." Her heart broke at his words, and she had a feeling his had too. Why did it have to be this way? She heard the door curtain swish as he exited the kitchen and turned round in time to see him leave, his head drooped and his shoulders slumped. How she longed to run after him! To comfort him, to tell him she was sorry. But what good would it do? She was still a nun. She still did not know what her feelings were nor how she should act on them. The pain in her chest became unbearable and she let her pent up tears slide down her face.

 **A/N: I would love a review if you could spare the time. I was unsure about this story and it has taken some umph for me to put it up, ha!**


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